The Child of Terassen (Rowaelin)
by buriedblackrose
Summary: When lonely Rowan Whitethorn meets the 'highway woman' Aelin, they travel to Terassen together and come across many perils. Rowaelin fanfic DISCLAIMER: I DONT OWN TOG


The sound of pebbles crunching underneath the horse's hooves resounded around the moonlit glade. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius urged the Asterian Mare forwards, listening to the sounds of the young night: owls hooting, crickets chirping, a stream trickling, but no sound indicating of prey. No sound indicated anything of a noble gentleman, or Fae of whom she could bleed dry of his money. Not many highway men - or woman in the case of youthful Aelin - would have the nerve or skill to rob a Fae, but the child of Terrasen was fearless and had the abilities almost no one in the realm of Erilea possessed. Aelin was gifted: that she knew, arrogant too: but such a thing often comes with excessive talent.

The 'Highwaywoman,' sighed and turned Fleetfoot around, heading back to the high way. A pernicious, baleful sensation washed over her as soon as she flopped onto the road. The trees loomed over her, seemingly watching her, whispering amongst each other. All too soon, another notice joined the night's symphony. Hooves.

Aelin tensed, and fumbled in the darkness for her pistol. She scanned the shadows before her, and watched as a flash of white shone in the moonlight. Routine and instinct kicked in.

'Stand and deliver!'She called.

However, even from this distance, she could see a ghostly imprint of a smile on the waif's face as it crested the slope yet many yards away.

'I don't think so good sir,' came back the voice.

Aelin gritted her teeth. They always assumed she was a man! 'I am a woman,' she stated, slowly enunciating each vowel, filling her voice with heavy spite.

The man came closer, and as his figure became more defined, the girl's grip on the pistol slackened slightly. And when he finally came to a standstill before her, she found that her gun was back in its holster and her jaw had dropped. Shameful. He was muscular and well built, with long white hair crowning his handsome face. A tattoo adorned the right side of his face, stretching down, down, down, until it was hidden in the folds of his expensive, beautiful clothes. And his ears were perfectly pointed meaning he was... Fae. And a very strong one at that, or a he seemed.

'A pleasure to meet you my lady,' he told Aelin, bowing deeply 'Prince Rowan Whitethorn'

She spat at him instead of returning any form of courteous formalities

'I dare say, you don't see many woman with that sort of spirit... And profession,' the prince mused.

Aelin felt suddenly numb: numb because of the so many ways that this Fae prince and herself where already very similar, despite them only having spoken once: Royalty, Fae heritage, (however secret and hidden these things were) flawless and stunningly beautiful, if she said so herself. And this man was different, aside from the fact that he was a prince and magic and seemed so powerful it was unlikely she could take him on and win, although her skills; there seemed something different about him. He was alluring and mysterious, and she sensed a strange bond between them: not in the ways of lovers or siblings or cohorts: but in one she had never felt before.

She found herself pulling the gun out again and holding it again his head. To her dismay, and great displeasure, he merely snorted and, with am immense show of strength, snapped the pistol. If her arrogance weren't so strong, she would have felt offence, but did not find it in her.

'How dare you.' she hissed

'Oh I dare,' he murmured 'and you're coming with me.'

Aelin was extremely surprised at how suddenly the tables had turned, she was inclined to refuse, but decided that she enjoyed her nose not broken, or her limbs and extremities, as this Rowan Whitethorn seemed perfectly capable of breaking any vital bone of her body without batting an eyelid: maybe even five at a time,

So the young woman allowed the strange Prince to escort her - she could defend herself alright if she had to - down a few miles of country lanes until they arrived at the door of an inn.

'Leave your stallion at the stable,' Rowan instructed her, chucking a coin at the ostler.

'Mare,' the 'Highwaywoman' corrected angrily.

'You're the mare,' he retorted.

'I know.'

Whitethorn pinched her ear and dragged her through the oaken doors, into a bar filled with drunkards and harlots and courtesans. The noise and stench was overwhelming as together, they traipsed through the ruckus.

'Two bottles of wine,' ordered Rowan, holding up two fingers.

'Only two?' Demanded Aelin

'Yes.'

The table they were at was dirty, with puddles of sick decorating the floor. The table beside them was filled with drunken men, who kept eyeing Aelin with suggestive smiles and raised eyebrows. Imposing in her dark hooded cloak, and with weapons gleaming at her side, they cowered when she turned to face them, whimpering as she stroked one of her countless weapons menacingly.

Among the urchins and scumbags off the streets here, they stuck out like a sore thumb - in their finery and velvet cloaks - and attention eventually turned to them. Food was brought to them along with the drinks, but neither of them touched the scran. It looked deadly, and the meat was grey.

'A room for two?' Inquired the innkeeper

Rowan thought for a few moments before gruffly replying '... Yes.'

A suggestive raised eyebrow from the innkeeper. Aelin felt heat rise up her face, that increased as the fat innkeeper asked 'Double bed?'Now raising the other eyebrow.

'No.'

'Pity,' sighed the man, his voice coloured with dissapointment 'Are you sure...?'

A growl and a death stare from Aelin and he decided not to press the matter further.

The pair followed the innkeeper up the rickety stairs and into a dingy room. Mould creeped up the walls, the bed clothes were stained and frayed, and the small wardrobe was crumbling. The bathroom was even worse, with a meagre hole serving as the toilet bowl, and a rusted, tiny basin as a bath. The sink didn't even exist. And the door... A tattered curtain would do.

Once the Innkeeper had left them, each sat in their respective beds and stared at each other. After a long and awkward silence, Aelin spoke.

'So are you going to tell me why you took me captive or do I wait and see.'

Rowan laughed 'Captive? No, you are not a captive, you are free to go, but I took you because I was lonely and I feel you won't leave because you are lonely too.

That, was an awnser that Aelin did not expect. And worst of all: Rowan was right. Since the death of Sam, her previous love, she had been despairingly lonely. There had been a hole cut in her heart which she could not mend, and so she run away from the life she knew to forge a new one. And to lose herself in sinning. She sometimes wondered what the beautiful Sam would do if he learned of what she has become.

And so she nodded, and smiled and said she would stay with Rowan, and in that instance something In her flickered: and changed.

Aelin stared at her reflection in the grimy window. The image glaring back at her was beautiful, long golden hair like a veil flowing behind her, and even in the dark window, the blue and gold of her eyes was captured. A figure stepped out, assuming the form of Rowan, and for minutes - minutes that seemed like hours they stared at the dark sky, as lightning tinted the sky, and thunder boomed and rain lashed against the window: and the stars; patches of stars that shone in the seldom patches were there was no blackened clouds.

They woke up in the early hours of the morning, the golden light streaming into the room. The last night they had lain on their beds with their eyes closed and talked to each other about the deepest, most buried secrets of themselves. It occurred to Aelin that by telling this man she had known for only a night things she had not told even Sam was extremely naïve and that Rowan could be anyone: perhaps one of the kings men, posing as a Fae prince. That was highly unlikely though, no human could look so much like a Fae, or so beautiful. Anyway, Aelin had long since decided that she did not care anymore. Sam had died and so had her life. Ripped away like paper and burnt In a fire.

And so that night, she had told Rowan of her dynasty: of her being heir to the Terassen throne and of her being Fae and the powers of fire she kept within her. And though it was like picking at a wound only recently healed- or not yet healed at all- she recounted the story of her torrid romance with Sam and how she love him more than she had ever loved, and she could have sworn that when she told him this, he sucked in breath sharply, and was silent for a minute. But it was dark and she was tired so she could not be sure.

There was a change in the atmosphere as they planned on where to journey to. Aelin could feel it, and was sure that Rowan, who did not seem obtuse, could sense it also. Last night. She had learned of the ways of Carranam, a bond of magic between two people: one where they could supply their partner with magic if he was on the doorstep of death. Eventually they decided to voyage to Terassen, Aelin's home. They would go travel on horseback from Meah, where they were currently staying, and go to Orynth.

As they readied their supplies, emotions flew between them furiously. They mounted and dug their spurs into each of their horse's flanks, trotting out of the dilapidated gate and into the woods. The sun beat hard on their backs, the hours stretching into each other.

Eventually, Rowan proposed that they stop for luncheon in the next glad they came to. They dismounted before long and gladly succumbed to lying on the grass. Rowan pulled out of his knapsack dried meat, water and two apples.

'Wow, you did come prepared,' observed Aelin

Her companion nodded and asked 'Do you know how to dance?'

Aelin looked up In surprise 'Of course.'

Rowan scrambled to his feet and extended a hand 'My lady, I would be honoured if you would dance with me.'

Scoffing, Aelin got up, smoothing down the skirts of the dress she had acquired long ago, but had not worn yet as she had had cross dress these past years. A woman riding a horse with weapons strapped to her sides? That wasn't an everyday sight and would stir unwanted attention.

'Its been years since I danced,' she told Rowan, attempting to keep her face neutral, but trying to quell the excitement inside her.

The Fae prince was an excellent dancer: almost as good as herself. For what seemed like hours, they spun around each other, and became one. The skirts on Aelin's dress billowed out around her as she danced and danced with feline grace. And eventually, when the emotions leaping around them became to overwhelming, Aelin found herself wrapped in a tight embrace, and before she knew it, their mouths were pressed against each other in a passionate kiss, and all the while they were spinning and dancing. Aelin gasped against Rowan's lips, and deepened the kiss.

'Rowan.' She finally murmured

'Mmm?'

'Stop.'

They broke apart, staring at each other.

'That,' said Aelin, gulping for air 'That was slightly unexpected.'

Rowan gulped, and eyed her, then went red. She felt her own face blossom scarlet.

'Im sorry, but... I feel guilty.' She said 'Sam... I can't' she realised that she had began to feel love for Rowan and, even worse she had wanted him. Guilt stabbed at her: she couldn't. So she had broken it.

Rowan looked at his feet

'I understand.' He told her gently 'When you're immortal its easier to let go eventually.'


End file.
